


Like Fire, Hellfire

by adrift_me



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Background Corvosider, Hate Sex, M/M, Porn With Plot, Unrequited Love, it's rather hot, trickster Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 08:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14398152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: Teague Martin turned away the Outsider. The black-eyed devil who has come to offer him a gift, and he said “no”. He laughed in his face and sneered at him, feeling like standing on top of the world, defying the god that does not come to any other person. For a moment, wallowing in the feeling of all-power, Teague relished the “no”.Alas, it is a “no” he learns to bitterly regret.





	Like Fire, Hellfire

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for [endrae](http://endrae.tumblr.com/), a great artist and a lovely friend, totally go check her works out :> I hope you will enjoy this!
> 
> To expand more, I have a list of Teague Martin smutty things I want to write and hate sex with the Outsider was one. Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> [Come chat with me on tumblr :)](https://a-driftamongopenstars.tumblr.com/ask)

“No.”

Teague Martin grits through his teeth, through a vainglorious smile, pulling his hand out of the Outsider’s grasp, those slender fingers clawing at the skin of his as he steps back.

“No?”

The Outsider smiles, baring his even teeth. The darkness boils and churns around him like a sinister cloud, stealing light from the altar. And then the Outsider dissolves in the air, leaving Teague alone in the dark corner of an abandoned home, a shrine glowing, glowering in front of him. Hand carved runes of unknown origin remain as an offering on the altar and Teague slips one of them in his pocket, a heretical artifact hidden in the deep pockets of his Overseer’s coat. It is a trophy bound to be a curse. If they are to be found in Teague’s possession, there will be neither mercy, nor salvation.

He turned away the Outsider. The black-eyed devil who has come to offer him a gift, and he said “no”. He laughed in his face and sneered at him, feeling like standing on top of the world, defying the god that does not come to any other person. For a moment, wallowing in the feeling of all-power, Teague relished the “no”.

Alas, it is a “no” he learns to bitterly regret.

First, come doubts. The poisonous seeds of questioning, rooted deep in Teague’s soul, making him wake up in anxiety and barely manage to fall asleep again as he goes through the Outsider’s offer over and over again, grinding it through common sense, through the greed for power and jealousy of not having it. Oh how he sleeps to the images of the Mark on his hand, the flow of energy he has never tasted, so unbearable in his desire to own it. But the race for political power, for having his hand marked not by the god but by the bureaucracy of higher standing, has prevented him from having such a godly boon that would have bent the world to his will.

Teague visits the shrine in secrecy of the day, when all the Overseers are out on duties and no one would miss him. He studies the structure of it, caressing rotting wood and fixing folds of expensive fabric. The runes are gone from the altar entirely, replaced by a heap of rat corpses, flies gathering over them like a stormcloud. Blood is splattered all over the fabric, destroying it beyond repair, and the stench of decay is appalling.

Despite that, he cleans the little corpses away.

Slowly doubts turn to jealousy. He overhears rumours about a marked assassin roaming the streets of Dunwall with his gang, putting the whole of noble families to their knees before him without any need for their forced allegiance. They murder each other by his marked hand and Teague shudders to think how much blackmail material the man must have gathered. And if he does not use it, then he is a fool.

But jealousy gives birth to something else entirely, and Teague starts hating himself and the Outsider for existence of such a feeling. Lust. Pure lust that scorches his body, that leaves him wanting by nights and trembling by days. He resists the will to touch himself, lying on his back and bundling the blanket over his body, his legs, lest the Overseers notice his “wanton flesh” demanding attention.

At times he manages to calm himself, at other times he loses sanity to sleepless nights, fantasizing and then praying. The strictures have never held any religious meaning for him, but their heavy burden feels so much better than the rushing blood to Teague’s hardness by every other night. If only they could bring the same kind of relief.

Such trials his body and mind send him, and all this over the refusal of the Outsider’s mark, his “no” echoing in his mind, filling him with regret.

But there are worse trials to be when the god himself decides he will have you at his mercy, whether you wish it or not.

First time it happens on the 2nd day of the Month of Darkness. The snow is raging outside the Abbey’s building, its old stone walls unable to protect the faithful inhabitants from the howling winds and biting frosts. The fireplaces are ablaze and yet barely any heat is produced from them, leaving the Overseers to huddle in their coats and mutter the Strictures, trying to forget that their fingers are numb cold.

Teague falls asleep with some effort, gritting teeth from the dark cold that surrounds him in a common dormitory.

And when he falls asleep, he turns up in an entirely different kind of cold. There are, too, raging howling winds, but no snow, no fire. Endless nothing, looking back at him with no horizon, terrifying and yet mesmerizing.

He is sat on a stone floor of an odd angled ledge, and appearing on the very edge of it is the Outsider himself, walking up slowly, hands locked behind his back. Teague tenses up, breathes in, nostrils wide. Hatred swells in him but so does odd hope. Perhaps, the Outsider would offer his gift again, something worth the burning humiliation to withstand for.

“Oh Teague, how fascinating you are,” the Outsider drawls maliciously, approaching in slow steps. Teague watches him, a slender figure of a young man and a face of a sage. “I have been watching you, bothered as you sleep, focused as you are awake. And always so desirous. Have the Strictures not taught you to not indulge in fantasies about another? But then I recall you do not care for the Strictures or the Abbey or your Overseer brothers. All that troubles your wicked mind, Teague, is power and greed, and does it not drive you  _ mad _ to have been within your arm’s reach for the greatest power of all that you refused?”

Teague fidgets, his coat feeling too heavy and the collar of it too tight, hands sweaty in the gloves. The Outsider sneers and disappears, turning up again to the left of Teague, pacing in small steps back and forth, the Void drawing around him like a magnetic cloud, doing inexplicable things to Teague’s insides just by existing so close.

“Keep your tongue behind that devil mouth,” he says with cold anger, sitting up a little, clenching his fist. “I will have no admonition from the heretic god.”

“Do not try to blind me with your faith, Teague, for you have none. There is no point in lying.  _ The echoes of lies come back as the voice of mine, _ ” the Outsider says through a smile, almost singing, the text of one of the strictures sounding sharp on his tongue.

His shape is gone from existence again, only to reappear beside Teague, settling down with one knee up, a long arm resting idly on it.

“I have seen so much, watched you suffer, craving for defiance. Tired of the the dry bureaucracy, knowing exactly how you could turn the knowledge of it for the better. Your better, of course. And this is one side of the coin. The other… is amusing.”

Teague feels hot blood rushing to his cheeks - he knows exactly what the Outsider is alluding to. The god turns, looking earnestly in Teague’s face. Those black eyes flicker in the faint light of the strange place and that smirk curls up sharply, making the tips of the Outsider’s teeth visible over his lower lip.

“I will be seeing more of you, Teague. And so will you, of me.”

Of all the threats Teague has ever received, this one must have been the deadliest and most possible to come true.

The Outsider does not make him wait. The very following night Teague dreams of a vague bedroom, sitting in its corner, unable to move, watching the Outsider squirm and writhe on a richly decorated bed, seducing Teague with long legs trapped in silks and fingers clenching hard onto the sheets. How wanton he looks, eyes hidden beneath heavy half-closed lids, how lascivious are his movements of an elegant hand, clenched around his cock, stroking long, luxuriating in a tight touch.

And the moans of his voice are crawling into Teague’s very skin, making him shiver, making him want, making him painfully hard in return, straining against the fabric of his trousers.

And then the vision is gone as if it never were, leaving Teague hard and panting a little in the wake of a cold morning, blankets sweaty on him and sheets of his bed in the Abbey messed up. A choked whine strains through his throat, muffled in a pillow, hiding the evidence of his want from the ever so vigilant Overseers, ready to betray one another for a wolfhound’s bone, thrown by the authorities.

The image of the shameless god follows him throughout the day, echoes of it in the shadows and the moans of his in the winter’s singing of the dripping icicles.

The next few nights are no different and no better, the longest minutes Teague has to suffer through, watching the god getting off. And with every night he seems to notice different details that make the Outsider so much more desirous to him. The sweaty locks that stick unevenly to that pale forehead, the redness of cheeks and lips when the Outsider permits Teague see how he comes. White streaks of it painting the god, leaving him a mess of himself. He tastefully licks his dexterous fingers with a glance of black eyes at the fake Overseer, who looks back in a burning mix of sexual hunger and hatred.

There are nights when the Outsider is further off and Teague is unable to move. There are other nights, when the god approaches close, and Teague thinks that should he be able to lean in a little, he would have the Outsider in his mouth and torture him till he begged.

But the Outsider hears his every single thought and laughs and moans as he continues stroking self, languid and tight as Teague watches. And just before he gasps in pleasure, Teague awakes, trembling and longing.

He has never seen an image so delightful, and he has been with many men and women in his lifetime to have seen the ecstasy of sex.

Teague dares indulge in his want once, going to the abandoned home with the shrine, deliberate in his destination and just as deliberate in his thoughts when he settles on the dirty mattress, coat beneath. There is light clink and clank of the Abbey’s trident buckle, and then he pulls his cock free from the undergarments. Not hard enough yet, an issue easy to rectify, he strokes himself and sinks into the pleasure. The shrine’s glow makes him relaxed and the simmering pleasure from the way his hand goes up and down soothes his thoughts. But not before he remember last night’s torture of watching the Outsider hump a blanket.

And then he touches himself differently. Faster and harder, merciless and even painful. He scrapes a nail over the sensitive head and immediately regrets it, wailing in pain.

“Fuck him. Fuck him. Void, fuck this insufferable tart and his Void and his power and--”

What follows Teague never gets to say because hatred and pleasure drive him to a breaking point. Almost by design he angles his cock and come spurts to paint the side of the shrine, streaking the fabric and sliding down the silk in slick drips. Teague pants, moan raw in his throat, cock softening in his hold as he gives himself another pleasant stroke. When it is over, he does not bother cleaning up.

This is when the dreams… change. The Outsider is no longer alone but aided in his pleasures by no other than Teague’s colleagues and brothers. The first night of this new image shows Teague one of the new recruits, laid beneath the Outsider who rides him to the oblivion. The Overseer’s face is contorted in a mix of horror and awe and his hands uncertainly grip on the god’s hips, pushing him down. And Teague, hidden in the shadows of the same dormitory he sleeps in, watches and craves and burns with jealousy, his gaze swallowing the image of the Outsider’s graceful movements and eventual tremblings of coming.

When both the Overseer and the god are undone, the black-eyed devil leans down and whispers something in his ear. Teague catches a glimpse of a bonecharm peeking from the abandoned Overseer’s coat, and wonders if it is a gift or an offering.

For a moment, the young man’s gaze locks with Teague’s and the youngster freezes up in confused terror before the dream dissolves into blackness.

The next day the young Overseer avoids Teague’s gaze entirely and by afternoon is executed for the possession of a bonecharm in the walls of their holy grounds.

Teague returns the rune to the altar in the carcass of an old apartment building he frequents too often, scared to become a suspect, and jerks himself off again, much more deliberately, cursing under his breath and streaking the altar with his come again.

It turns into a game, a wicked vile game. The Outsider invites a variety of people to his bed, from the lowest to nearly highest ranks. Handsome Overseers, so many that Teague knows hold power and blackmail material beyond his imagination. And each and everyone gets to taste the Outsider, please him or be pleased. The following day their eyes are looking down and their mind seems scattered, their speech raw and broken. Not one dares to look at Teague.

For weeks and weeks the torture continues, just as the world goes down under the Lord Regent’s rule. Teague knows that this regime will not stand the pressure of the plague nor will it last under the unguided control of the fool who holds the reins. But the recent coup has planted seeds of possibilities for Teague’s political prosperity. If only he could move the Lord Regent’s ally Campbell out of Burrows’ favour, all the fortune would face him. And Teague works tirelessly towards it, ignoring the whispers of the Outsider, focusing entirely on what this political game can grant him. Conspiring with people known as the loyalists has nearly healed his mind and body.

Teague comes to the shrines less, but dreams about the Outsider just as much as before, torturous tiring dreams that seem to exert his body. He hates the hard feeling he wakes up to, hates the Outsider’s body that he lusts for so badly. He hates how it distracts him from truly important things. Despises the god with all his being and wishes for nothing less than to be at his mercy, only to be spared at last.

The night that it happens they get the news of the Empress’s assassin’s escape. Martin delights. Of course, a crafty man such as Teague has no trouble to mask his direct involvement with the underground movement, with Corvo who indeed had no hand in Jessamine Kaldwin’s murder. That Corvo’s liberation is part of Teague’s careful masterful plan on the path towards power is unknown to the public and he prefers it that way.

He goes to sleep with a lighter heart and almost forgetting that the tireless lustful god might pay a visit.

That he would pay a visit to Teague directly… he does not expect.

The dream unfurls at the very shrine Teague has abandoned so eagerly, and just as eagerly used to defile. The mattress beneath him sags roughly, and there is a weight over his strangely naked body.

“I must admit I am quite shaken by your resolve, Teague. I have been expecting you to turn savage in our little dreams, kill the Overseers, attack me, perhaps, even fuck me as you are so willing to do. But you remained uninvolved, waiting for the precious time by my shrine that you spend cursing my name and then worshipping me by your touch.”

Teague grunts something and tries to throw the Outsider off himself, but the god does not relent. His body… looking so fragile and lean feels much stronger. He lies playfully on top of Teague, legs in the air, moving back and forth, while his arms rest astride the Overseer.

“You have wanted me for so long. And tonight you will have me, Teague. This is my mercy. And I am your reward.”

It takes Teague but a moment to flip pliant Outsider on the back and press him hard into the mattress. The godhood of his frail frame is crushed under Teague’s lean shape.

“I am going to fuck the Void out of you for all that you have done to me,” he grits, angry hands on the Outsider’s shoulders.

“I am certain you will, don’t leave waiting,” the god replies, looking entirely unconcerned by the force of clenched fingers on his body. One leg pushed up, he drapes it over Teague’s and tilts his head to look at him with the hate of blackness.

Teague knows by that point that he is not letting the Outsider off his hook easily, no matter how much he wants to thrust into this insufferable creature.

And so their mouths crush.

Hateful, vicious is their kiss. There is no intent on pleasuring each other, but the Outsider takes everything he wants and Teague - everything he needs. Lips tearing at lips and tongues tangled angrily, trying to deprive each other of the ability to breathe. 

His kisses trail down the god’s body, soft skin under a rough mouth, leaving traces of bitter tobacco taste and old whiskey. Teague bites him relentlessly and the Outsider, as if playing a game with him, moans sparingly, almost laughing, rushing fingers through Teague’s hair. The slight tugs in his hair drive the man mad with want and he wishes he could tear his own hands at the Outsider’s short hair, turning his neck up a little, exposing for his bites.

Instead, he continues journeying down and down the Outsider’s body, studying every inch of it and promising the god that for all the kisses the other Overseers have granted him, he will take twice as much.

“You are mine, as you said, my reward, and I am going to defile you as I defiled your shrine,” Teague finds energy to say, feeling himself getting desperately hard. He swears and sits up, stroking his cock to indulge in burning passion while the Outsider watches, an index finger in his mouth, eyes lazy in a smile.

“I have watched you do this, Teague. Such a low gesture for a man of such a grandstanding, is it not. How cleverly your scheme has worked, getting Corvo Attano out of his cage.”

Teague groans, pleasure rushing faster through his body, and then lets go. Edging will make him a better partner and a worse punishment.

Pre-cum drips over his sock, slicking him, and the Outsider looks quite eagerly at the man astride his body. Teague stares at the god who reaches out, but he slaps his hand away.

“Don’t even think of touching me,” he says, stroking himself again. The Outsider looks amused and not at all angered. And it is infuriating.

“But did you not dream of my hand on yours, Teague? I watched your dreams and desires. Were those not my fingers you wanted so badly on your cock?”

“Shut up,” Teague grunts, thrusting into his own hand. His eyes feel blind and he moves the hand away again, avoiding the nearly crashing peak of an orgasm that he is going to delay as much as possible.

“Tease,” the Outsider chuckles, sighing deep. Teague looks over him, takes in the image of him, seductive pose and elegant angles. And a twitching cock, swollen hard, leaking pre-cum. The Outsider arches a curious brow, calling Teague out. “At your mercy as you are at mine.”

“There is no mercy for the heretic god,” Teague snarls and before the Outsider can say anything, leans down to take the whole of his cock into his mouth. The god moans and that might just be the most beautiful sound Teague has ever heard. Sparing no time for pondering, he moves up and down to slick the Outsider perfectly and torture him with a clever tongue, a lying tongue that has brought quite a few downfalls on a variety of people. There is no question he can bring the god off as well, circling over the sensitive head, teasing the slit and making the Outsider’s legs tremble and jerk in pleasure.

Teague slams his hand onto the Outsider’s leg and holds him down, grunting. There is nothing loving in the way he sucks him off, hollows around him and licks. No, there is more animosity to it, more of the tasteful anger. He deliberately scrapes nails onto the Outsider’s perfect skin, leaving marks and traces just as the god writhes and moans in pleasure. That smirk, that smile would not leave his face.

When the Outsider’s hips jerk up, Teague pulls away. Wipes his mouth of, licks at his lips.

“You taste like whale oil,” he says, spitting on the ground beside them.

“A medicine hard to swallow?” the Outsider grins evilishly, and Teague clenches fists.

“You do realise I’m not intending to prepare you and that I have nothing to prepare myself with,” he says, and the Outsider rolls eyes, obvious even from the way blackness moves in his eye sockets.

“Have the experience of months not taught you, Teague, that the Void and the dreams are one and what you wish is what you get. Although, perhaps a correction is in order, what I wish - I get.”

“You talk too much.”

“The Overseers have never complained about it. Neither would Corvo.”

This makes Teague stop in his tracks as he leans above the Outsider, his weight hovering threateningly. He looks for traces of lie in the Outsider’s face, but there is only self-pleasure of knowing everything.

“Oh yes, I have come to meet him. He has never noticed me, but I watched him from the shadows. A strong man, a sturdy man. A lover to the Empress, a protector to the Empire. He had so much power at his fingertips… and he has never used it, not once. What a waste, huh, Teague? Is this what you think?”

Teague growls and bites the Outsider’s neck again, leaving a circle of teeth on the perfect skin that seems to forget all traces of his punishment.

“The way you try to tear me apart only speaks of how much greed there is in you, how much jealousy. How much power is enough, Teague, to sate your cold heart?”

“Easy to speak for a man who rules the Void itself,” Teague mutters, pushing close to the Outsider, body over his, taking a hold of their cocks and rubbing them together.

“Even you would not wish for such a burden.”

Teague huffs. The feeling drives him insane, the velvety hardness against his, slick sounds woven in his very fingertips. The pace is fast and then the pace is slow, and Teague listens to the Outsider’s broken moans of pleasure. He is still smiling, nudging Teague to get wilder and rougher by every following moment.

There is a gasp, and then there is a broken moan as Teague spares no other second to slide into the Outsider. As promised, there is no problem, his backside perfectly prepared and slick, letting Teague fit in tightly. For a moment his legs give in weakly and he moans.

“I would say you feel good, but I have never wanted to fuck you more in my life,” he grunts, feeling the tight pressure around his cock as he slides balls-deep. And when it feels like enough, he moves. His hands take a hold of the Outsider’s legs and he pushes them up on his shoulder, burying himself deep in the god’s backside.

“Enjoying your reward, Teague?” he teases, eyelids falling half-closed heavily, biting on his own lower lip.

“Egocentric prick,” he retorts, moving in and out and feeling his body burning in pleasure at last. All his mind is able to focus on is the Stricture of Wanton Flesh and he repeats it in his mind dryly while sprouting swearings and curses for the god who tightly takes him in and moans wildly, not even holding back.

Pleasure builds up at force and explodes for Teague all too soon, with a thrust that he buries deep, coming inside the god and feeling pulsing of his cock so very tangibly.

“Oh Void… Oh Void…”

His hand clenches somewhere on the Outsider’s nape as he pulls his hair and exposes that neck that he devours in a harsh kiss. The god pliantly lets him, stroking himself at speed and enjoying the spiteful sex they indulge in.

“And if you were Marked, Teague, if you accepted my Mark, we would never have done this…”

“Trust me,” he speaks in his neck, shaking through the aftershocks and pain of pleasure, “I would have fucked you like you are nothing.”

“Or worshipped…”

Teague thrusts into him harshly, and the Outsider’s voice breaks off as he comes with a moan, come streaking Teague’s chest and their stomachs.

“Harder… Do you not… hate me enough to fuck me proper… Harder!” the god begs and that makes Teague thrust even through pain that washes over him sensitively. He knows neither would be able to come, but to hurt - that they can.

Eventually, achingly, free, they lie slumped against each other. Teague rubs his forehead, sweaty hair falling in messed up locks while the Outsider traces drying come over his stomach.

“It’s been… a pleasure.”

The Outsider turns to smirk at Teague and there is something very, very wrong about the way his lips curl up. He kisses his shoulder and disappears.

The world twists, unfurls, the dream dissolving… and Teague awakes to a flashlight above his head, rows of angered Overseers around his bed, with one of them speaking calmly.

“You are accused of treason by aiding the assassin Corvo Attano escape the prison. You will remain silent and will follow our orders. I’m sorry, Teague. But your game is over.”

The end game is not what the Overseers thought, however. In a few days to come, Teague is released by very Corvo Attano whose name dripped off the Outsider’s lips like poison and whose existence is now a blemish on Teague’s plans.

They meet up again in the Hound Pits Pub, talking only about the matters of the campaign. Teague looks into Corvo’s eyes, seeking something in them, perhaps, a familiar ghost of a god or a confirmation of the inexplicable. He has not seen the Outsider neither in dreams nor in his physical form after their affair, and yet the touch of him still lingers on Teague, wetting his dreams in a warm bed and turning him hard at the slightest touch.

He wants to fuck him again.

And he wants to fuck him even more when he sees the Mark on Corvo’s hand. That glowering black symbol that he refused so very long ago. He looks at it in passing, drops a comment to Corvo and prays that the former royal protector speaks sincerely and truthfully about its origin, as if Teague does not know the fucking black-eyed god has gone and marked Corvo. Out of tease or by a grand design, he does not know.

But when he asks Corvo if he may touch it, he gets a no.

A no he comes to bitterly regret.


End file.
